


Let the Punishment Fit the Crime

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Collars, Dom/sub, M/M, Puppy Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-12
Updated: 2008-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam helps Peter learn from his mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the Punishment Fit the Crime

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at the [Heroes Kink Meme](http://lone-child.livejournal.com/64275.html), and inspired by the [](http://un-love-you.livejournal.com/profile)[**un_love_you**](http://un-love-you.livejournal.com/) 27: It’s for your own good.

  


Peter was starting to be grateful that he’d taken yoga classes all those years ago. It was still awkward holding this pose: on his knees with his face pressed into the floor. His arms, folded in front of him, were braced against the wall, and Peter was thankful for that, too. If he’d had to hold himself up, he would have collapsed hours ago. This position was starting to be painful, but maintaining it took no strength, only obedience.

 

Peter shifted his head to relieve some of the strain in his neck. His leash jingled where it was attached to his collar. The other end of the leash was wrapped around the radiator at Peter’s left. It wasn’t necessary, of course. Peter had no intention of moving, but he knew why his master had done it: to remind him that he was being punished. He rubbed his neck against his hand to feel the butter-soft leather of the collar, to remind himself that it was there.

 

Adam had picked out the collar: a thin line of elegant black leather with a silver disk at the front. A few weeks ago he’d taken Peter to a jewelers to have it engraved. The man behind the counter helped them pick out a font and design for the engraving, and at last he’d asked, “What’s your dog’s name?”

 

Adam had placed a possessive hand at the small of Peter’s back, and looked at him expectantly. “Peter, tell the nice man my pet’s name.”

 

Peter had blushed furiously, but turned to the engraver to do as Adam asked. “Peter Petrelli,” he said.

 

“See,” Adam whispered in his ear as the engraver turned away with a shrug. “Sounds meant to be a pet’s name.”

 

Peter’s sensitive ears caught the sound of a key turning in the front door, and his heart leapt in excitement. Adam was home. The door opened, closed again. Peter could hear Adam moving through the house: hanging up his coat, unloading shopping bags. At last he entered the bedroom.

 

“Were you a good boy today?” he asked. He rubbed Peter’s bare, upturned ass affectionately before moving up to scratch behind his ear. “Stay out of trouble?” He reached for Peter’s neck and unhooked the leash from the collar. “Come,” he said, and walked away.

 

Peter pushed himself up, gasping as sensation—pain—flooded back into his shoulders. He took a moment to stretch them to get the blood flowing.

 

“Peter, come,” Adam called, this time with a snap in his voice.

 

On all fours, Peter trotted into the kitchen. Adam stood at the counter filling a plate from steaming hot take-out containers. It was Thai, Peter’s favorite. It smelled delicious. Peter looked up at his master hopefully, but Adam ignored him. He took his plate to the table and sat down. Peter’s stomach rumbled noisily. Adam took a fork full of food—it looked like khao pad—and closed his eyes in pleasure as he savored it.

 

Peter looked on longingly; he was so hungry. He wasn’t allowed to talk today—that was part of his punishment, and he took a moment to appreciate his master’s cleverness, that the punishment should so precisely fit the crime—so instead he sat back on his haunches and whined, letting his tongue hang out.

 

Adam spared him a glance. “For never having had a dog, you’re frighteningly good at this,” Adam said with a smirk. Peter whined again. “Oh all right.” Adam picked up a piece of chicken from his plate and held it down to Peter. He bounded forward eagerly, snatching up the tidbit and devouring it. He licked Adam’s hand to get every last drop of sauce. When he was done, Adam patted him on the head and went back to his meal.

 

Peter sat up, putting his hands on Adam’s leg and whining for more. “No,” Adam snapped. “Get down.” He shoved Peter by the face, sending him tumbling to the floor.

 

Peter heaved a sigh and curled up on the kitchen floor, his head on his hands so he could continue to watch his master. He didn’t resent Adam’s actions. This was supposed to be punishment, after all. Quiet time to reflect on his mistakes. And the debacle last night had certainly deserved punishment. Adam was the master—even when it wasn’t demonstrated quite as literally as today—and Peter owed him everything. Anything Adam asked of him, he would do. Anything. So he understood Adam’s anger when, last night in their bed, his knees tucked up by his ears, with Adam pounding into him, hitting that spot inside Peter that caused him to scream, to burn little patterns of radiation into the sheets, when, coming with Adam’s cock inside him, Adam’s hand squeezing him, he had screamed his brother’s name.

 

There had been an awful moment of absolute silence when everything stopped. Then Adam had pulled out roughly, untangling himself from Peter, and marched into the bathroom, shutting the door gently behind him. Peter had laid there for a moment, trembling in the aftershocks of his climax before he was able to pull himself out of bed. He knocked on the bathroom door.

 

“Wait,” came Adam’s command.

 

So Peter had stood there at the door, sick with regret and dread, and listened until the shower turned off. Adam came out with a towel wrapped around his skinny hips. Peter opened his mouth to apologize, but Adam held up a finger. “Don’t talk until I say you may. I’m going to bed. I’ll tell you more in the morning.”

 

Adam threw his towel over a chair and lay down, pulling the covers up to his chest. Peter tentatively sat down on his side of the bed. Without looking, Adam snapped, “Off. You’re not allowed on the furniture.” Peter stood. He wanted to ask where the hell he was supposed to sleep, but Adam had said no talking. No talking, and he wasn’t allowed on the furniture? Peter suddenly had a sneaking suspicion about what tomorrow would bring. He’d pulled an extra blanket from the closet and curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed.

 

Now, lying naked on the cold tile and watching Adam eat, Peter felt a tremendous respect for his master. He’d had hours to think today while Adam was away. He was grateful for the chance to reflect. When he was naked and kneeling, unable to speak, it was easy to enter the necessary state of mind to obey, that peculiar sub-space where he was free to submit without explanation or guilt. Adam knew Peter deeply, intimately, knew his weakness for needing to apologize, to plead, to confess.

 

“It’s hard for you to let go all the way,” Adam had told him once, stroking his hair. “It’s always harder when you’ve belonged to someone else.”

 

“I belong to you now,” Peter had insisted.

 

Adam had only given a dissatisfied “hm” and refused to say anything more.

 

But today, Peter felt a warm and glowing admiration for his master that went beyond conscious thought. Adam was helping Peter become _his_ , body and soul. This was all for his own good, Peter knew, and with that thought came a sudden urgent desire to make amends.

 

Peter got to all fours and crept toward his master, belly to the floor. Adam ignored him. Cautiously, he laid his head against Adam’s thigh, gazing up adoringly. Adam didn’t push him away. Peter rested there for a moment, reveling in Adam’s closeness, the fabric of the trousers against his cheek, the smell of aftershave mixed with Thai spices. Adam’s hand came absently to Peter’s head, petting his hair softly, repetitively.

 

Peter squirmed out from under Adam’s hand and crawled further under the table, pushing his nose between Adam’s legs until his master relaxed with a chuckle, allowing Peter to go where he wanted. Now, sitting on his haunches, Peter could rest the side of his head against Adam’s inner thigh. He looked up at his master and let out a tentative whimper. Adam pushed his plate away to look down at Peter. “Is he sorry?” he asked.

 

Peter whined in response, and pushed his face against Adam’s crotch. It smelled so good, so distinctly Adam. Peter pushed his tongue against the cotton trousers. He continued to nuzzle everywhere he could reach until Adam grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back.

 

Peter looked up at his master with wide, pleading eyes, and saw the hint of a flush that meant Adam was enjoying himself. “Does he think he deserves a treat?” Adam asked.

 

Peter ventured a high-pitched bark. It didn’t sound quite right: breathy and too much like singing. But Adam chuckled at it, and ran his thumb over the silver disk at the front of the collar, engraved with Peter’s name. “All right. He can have a treat.”

 

Adam scooted his chair back and unzipped his pants. Peter dove right in, his tongue battling with Adam’s hands as he pulled his half-hard cock free of his boxer shorts. “Easy,” Adam hissed. He began stroking himself as Peter darted in, licking and sucking every bit of exposed skin he could find. At last, Adam settled his hand around the base of his cock and let Peter suck the tip, slobbering all over, licking furiously.

 

“You’re making a mess,” Adam warned. Peter just kept licking, his tongue poking between Adam’s fingers to wet every inch of his master’s growing erection. Then he wrapped his lips firmly around the head, and whined deep in his throat. Adam stood up abruptly, pulling his dick from Peter’s mouth. “Go to the bedroom,” he said, and the command had a breathless edge to it.

 

Peter bounded into the bedroom, scrambling up onto the bed before Adam shouted, “Off! Still not allowed on the furniture, no matter how well you suck cock.” With an affronted whine, Peter slunk back onto the floor.

 

Adam stood in the doorway for a moment, stroking himself as he looked at his beautiful Peter kneeling on the carpet, practically wriggling in anticipation, his cock standing proud between his legs. “Pretty pet,” he said. “Are you ready?”

 

In answer, Peter turned around, presenting his ass unabashedly. Adam snatched the lube from the nightstand on his way over, pouring a dollop in to his hand and rubbing it carelessly over his erection. He knelt behind Peter, bracing himself with one hand on the floor, and pushed himself into Peter’s tight hole. A sharp intake of breath was all Peter gave to indicate how it felt. It must hurt, Adam knew, but it didn’t matter, not for them. Peter would take it, and take it gladly, gratefully. He shoved the rest of the way in, letting out a sigh of relief as his entire length was squeezed in warmth that was almost too tight—too good.

 

Adam leaned over Peter, fabric of his shirt scratchy against Peter’s back, and he began to thrust. Not gentle love-making, not long, languorous lazy-day screwing, but hard fucking, like animals: short, rough jerks of Adam’s hips, Peter bucking back up to meet each thrust. Adam humped into him, again and again, even these little movements threatening to send him over the edge. That, with the sound of Peter’s shameless panting, was almost enough to do him in. Quickly, Adam wrenched one hand off the floor to wrap around Peter’s cock, squeezing painfully.

 

Peter began to whimper, high-pitched and frantic at the front of his throat, with each thrust. Adam’s hand was a good-painful blur on his cock, jerking it roughly with each brutal thrust of his hips. “Oh Peter,” Adam said, and Peter felt warmth filling him.

 

Then Adam pulled Peter up, arm around his chest as he continued to stroke him. Peter squirmed in Adam’s lap, his desperate noises speeding up as Adam brought him to the edge. “Come on pet,” Adam whispered in his ear, and Peter bucked once more, spilling over Adam’s hand.

 

Gently Adam lowered them back down, staying buried inside Peter, holding his lover as he shivered with small aftershocks of pleasure. “There there. Punishment over, sweetest. Was that so bad?”

 

“No,” Peter said. “Thank you.” It felt strange to speak after a day of no talking, but he hoped Adam understood what he meant.

 

Adam wrapped his arm more tightly around Peter’s waist. “You ever watched two dogs fucking, Peter?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Of course you have. Dogs stay tied together when they’re finished. That’s you and I. Tied together. Don’t you agree?”

 

“Yes,” Peter said simply, without hesitation. It was truer right now than it had ever been before. “I’m yours.”

 

Adam smiled into Peter’s shoulder. “I know. Good boy.”


End file.
